


i'd know you anywhere

by muzakchan



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Post S4, Short One Shot, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but it was just really cute, lucifer comes back, non-canon, this doesn't work at all with the new trailer that dropped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:14:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25406725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muzakchan/pseuds/muzakchan
Summary: It's been six months since he left, and Chloe's not in a great spot.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 9
Kudos: 134





	i'd know you anywhere

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this isn't canon-compliant with the newest trailer that's dropped, but like... I just want them to be together and be happy, so that's where this piece came from. I hope y'all like it! :) <3

A car door slams outside the house and Chloe looks up instinctually. She can’t identify the make and model of just any car by the sound of a slamming door, but her search history would show that she’s _tried_ , at least, to learn what a 1961 Chevrolet Corvette C1 sounds like. 

He’s been gone six months. She’s been reduced to memorizing what his car door sounds like. _Pathetic_. 

Maze caught her once, at 4am. Can of RedBull in one hand, box of tissues next to the other. They stared, each catching the other in a lie - Maze laden with cans of coconut water, Chloe grasping for straws of a man she couldn’t find. No words were exchanged. No words could fill the void he’d left. When the car door slam played over the laptop’s shitty speakers, Maze knew. 

(A new sound system showed up at Chloe’s house the next week boasting “TRUE-TO-LIFE SOUND!”)

Footsteps crunch up the pathway to the house. Chloe realizes she’s stopped breathing. Silently, she creeps to the door. Places a hand on it. Steadies herself. The footsteps stop in kind. 

She could look. There’s a shadow cast through the front window on her left, and there’s always the peephole. But she doesn’t. If it’s not him, she’ll break. If she doesn’t look, it _could_ be. 

His image is burned into her corneas, like the start of a migraine, blotting out her vision with light too bright. Every time she closes her eyes, to sleep, to blink, she sees him. Sees the way he looked at her when she told him. Sees the tears that glistened in his eyes when he responded. And the _kiss_ \- 

Here, her memory completes the metaphor. Bright light blossoms into pain and it catches her off guard every time. Always finds some new way to hurt her, first with the rawness of loss and then now, as she slowly forgets the details. The softness of his lips (or were they rough and dry?), the feel of his stubble against her cheek (or had he just shaven?), the way he smelled of fire and brimstone (or was it whiskey and fresh linen?). 

Chloe gasps, reeling from her quick trip to hell. It took her four years to come to terms with it - that she ~~loved~~ cared for him unwaveringly, unflinchingly, unconditionally - and then? 

He _left_ her. 

A quick series of raps echoes out from the front door, bringing Chloe back to earth. She sighs. Shakes her head. Turns back to the couch. _Pick up deliveries later._

And then - 

“Detective?” The distinctive lilting voice is muffled by the half-inch of wood between them, but Chloe would know that voice anywhere. 

_Oh._

For the last six months, any accent vaguely resembling his has turned her head. But now, _now_ he’s here, asking for _her,_ and she wonders how she ever mistook any other voice for his. 

“Detective?” The question comes again, and knocks the wind out of Chloe. She’s dreaming, she decides. She’s had a few dreams like this, where he’s back and everything is fine, but the alarm clock always goes off before she can open the door. Before she can touch him. She reaches out tentatively and places a hand on the doorknob, as though it might burn her; make her pain real. 

A sigh from the other side of the door. Chloe imagines him tapping his foot, staring at his watch, looking annoyed. He always looks somewhat annoyed, except for when he looks at her. Except when he told her she fulfilled the prophecy. Because he - 

“Chloe?” His voice is soft, delicate, _vulnerable._

Oh, her chest hurts. When was the last time she took a breath? 

She grips the doorknob tightly, knuckles white, fingernails digging into her palm. _This should wake me up._

_Why isn’t it waking me up?_

The crunch of gravel tells her she’s missing her window. She needs to see what’s outside. Dream be damned, she needs to see him. He can't leave her again. 

Chloe throws open the door violently, urgently, shouting, “Lucifer, wait!” It’s the first time his name has passed through her lips in six months. 

It hurts even more when there’s no one outside. Her chest, screaming for air a moment before, feels like it’s collapsing in on itself. _He’s not here. You’re losing it, Chloe._

But, then, across the sea of her front lawn, she sees a car. _The_ car.

Before she can react, a voice - his voice - drawls from behind her. “Detective, if you’d wanted to play hide and seek, you should have just told me!” 

She’s going to need reconstructive surgery on her chest after this; the amount of stress her ribs have been put under in the last thirty seconds can’t be good for them. 

Chloe swings around and meets his gaze. Oh God, he looks just the same as she remembered (or didn’t remember). Chiseled jaw, light stubble, jet black hair, complete with a devil-may-care smile. And the way he's looking at her, it jumpstarts her body in ways she hasn't felt in six months. 

Without thinking, Chloe punches him in the shoulder. It hurts. She knew it would hurt, but she needs him to feel just a fraction of the pain she’s felt in the last six months. 

His shoulder dips slightly under the punch, and he gasps. “Detective!” 

Then, before she can round up for a second punch, he takes her hand. He kisses her throbbing knuckles gently, and Chloe can’t help but sigh as his kiss takes away some of her pain. 

“Chloe,” he murmurs into her closed fist. 

“Lucifer,” she responds. She savors his name this time. He looks up at her, and for a moment, Chloe can see tears welling in his eyes. “I knew it was you,” she blurts out, catching them both off guard. 

“How?” he asks, surprise in his eyes, and a smile curling at the edges of his lips. He kisses her wrist softly. 

“The car door.” 

This gives the Devil pause, and he looks up at her once again; there’s wonder in his eyes now. “You knew me by the sound of my car door?” 

The truth slips through her lips before she can stop to think about it: “I’d know you anywhere.” 

He chuckles softly at this, and places a gentle hand on her face. “That’s my Chloe,” he says softly. Lovingly. 

They fall into one another’s arms then. Chloe remembers, or rather, relearns that the Devil does, in fact, smell of whiskey and fresh linen. She relearns that while he’s burning hot to the touch, his kisses quell the anger inside of her like a downpour on a wildfire. She remembers that she _loves_ him, and, through the whispered promises left in her hair, her mouth, her hands, she remembers he loves her too. 


End file.
